


Innistrad Artschool

by nightmaresphinx



Series: Innistrad Artschool [1]
Category: Magic: The Gathering (Card Game)
Genre: Artschool AU, College AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 16:55:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24350158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightmaresphinx/pseuds/nightmaresphinx
Summary: Geralf Cecani begins a new semester at the prestigious Innistrad School of Fine Arts
Series: Innistrad Artschool [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1758028
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	Innistrad Artschool

Geralf perched on the bed of his dorm room gargoyle-like, his face twisted in concentration as his fingers mashed away at a small contraption in his hands. The sound of pokemon battle music filled the almost empty room and the young man licked his lips in anticipation. The bluish light from the handheld console flashed across his face, further exaggerating his pallid, tired appearance.  
His hair was dark and unkempt, and his eyes were a cold ice-like blue. He was dressed immaculately in close-fitting tan trousers and a v-necked white shirt, with high white socks and new shoes. His clean and well put together clothing contrasted with his somewhat haggard visage. Unfortunately, there was little he could do about his perpetually ghoulish appearance. He just had a certain look about him.  
His white cotton shirt was one of the few he owned that displayed little to no ornamentation. He had a great number of other shirts in his drawers, many celebrating nerdy in-jokes or including references to favoured tv shows. He’d elected to wear something more neutral for the first day of semester, something less likely to draw the derision of his sister or others.  
He smiled a white-toothed half-grin as his opponent’s Gyarados fainted. He adjusted his position on his bed, the old springs creaking obnoxiously as he did. The other bed in the room was empty, its owner having never shown up in the lead-up to school commencing. Half the room was filled with Geralf’s myriad possession and the other was barren, awaiting a student who may never arrive. Geralf was beginning to believe, with some relief, that no one would ever show up. He preferred privacy when he could get it.  
Geralf checked his smart-watch absently. He checked it again. He checked it a third time, with more intensity.  
He leapt up and dropped his still flashing game device onto the bed. He grabbed his bulging satchel and slung it over a bony shoulder. He patted his sides, checking he had his wallet, phone, and keys. Satisfied, he strode to his door. He was about to open it when he heard a knock from its other side. He reached hesitantly for the handle, fearful of who or what might be waiting for him.  
He fear was well-founded.  
“Good morning, brother dearest,” the dark-haired blue-eyed woman said cheerfully.  
Geralf sighed. It was his sister, Gisa.  
“And to you, sister dearest,” he responded in the customary manner.  
She was wearing torn jeans, an old worn My Chemical Romance t-shirt, and older more worn black and white flats. She had a silver pendant of an upside-down cross around her neck, an accessory which, like the rest of her clothing, was at least a decade out of date. He noticed she had, at one point recently, been wearing black nail polish. He silently mused that the scattered black splotches that remained on her nailbeds resembled various fantasy maps, the continents picked out in black.  
The pair were twins and looked alike in almost every way. They had the pale, somewhat drawn features common to all Cecanis. The only noticeable differences besides their fashion-senses were that Geralf was slightly taller, and Gisa had a slightly wider face. She also had better hair. Marginally.  
“It’s not like you to be so disorganised, brother. Class has almost started.”  
“I was, uh, distracted.”  
“With your hair?” she asked sardonically, glancing at his chaotic nest of hair.  
“Very amusing,” he replied, injecting the most sarcasm he could into the two-word reply.  
Glancing over her shoulder he could see the last few stragglers were heading off to their 9AM classes.  
“Shall we go?” he asked lightly.  
She waved a hand, urging him to lead on.  
He did, and she almost immediately cleared her throat.  
“Brother, the door.”  
Geralf blushed and locked the door behind him.  
The twins made their way down the stale, metallic-smelling stairway to the groundfloor of the unisex dorms. They passed many other respective students and Geralf eyed them warily. He was trying, by sight alone, to determine whether they were enrolled in any of his classes, and if so, whether they would be a challenge to his supremacy. Geralf had a history of high performance academically and was fiercely competitive. His sister also excelled in various extracurricular activites, notably music, but their paths had rarely crossed in high-school academically. The only point of intersection was in the arts, in which the two fought with all the furiosity of football rivals. Not that Geralf knew much of anything about football. Frustratingly, the twins had tied in the local art competition in their senior year, the judges being unable to determine a winner. He’d believed his creation was superior but had, unusually for him, remained silent on that fact, accepting the outcome with a degree of magnanimity that surprised even him.  
He silently hoped that this, along with the recent family tragedy, might blunt the competitive sharpness between the siblings, which at times, had grown into legitimate anger. He looked at Gisa, trying to deduce if she shared the same hope or desire. But, she was looking straight ahead and as was typical, Geralf could judge no concrete emotion on her features.  
They exited the dorms and came out into the cold air of the campus of the Innistrad School of Fine Arts. A few flecks of snow trailed lazily down from the overcast skies, joining the thousands of their brethren that littered the green grasses and grey slate of the college.  
Geralf pulled out a printed copy of the campus map along with his class schedule and consulted them for a moment.  
“They’re giving us weird looks,” Gisa observed, a smile in her voice.  
Geralf looked up. Several other students were indeed looking at the two strangely. Geralf soon realised why. The Cecani twins’ single layer clothing was woefully inappropriate to the weather and juxtaposed against the student bodies’ jackets and scarves looked especially ridiculous. Gisa and Geralf barely felt the cold down here though, raised as they were farther north.  
“Weaklings,” Geralf said, before going back to his map.  
Gisa sniggered.  
“Alright, so SLP201 is in the Stensia building. In Markov Hall,” he folded the map and schedule and slid them with some difficulty into his back pocket.  
The pair shuffled through the snow, passing beneath gothic archways and towering steeples as they made their way to the gloomy Stensia building.  
Gisa also seemed to be in a hurry to get to class and Geralf wondered why she’d come to him instead of going straight to the lecture. His first instinct was that she’d forgotten where the room was and couldn’t be bothered to print a map. His brow creased with annoyance at the idea, before another occurred to him. She’d simply checked in on her brother and wanted to go to class with him. His mind wrestled with the idea, having difficulty believing her intentions were so pure. Eventually he accepted it though and expressed no doubts to her. Maybe she had changed.  
Their clashings had grown destructive and scandalous in their teenage years during high school and their first year of college. Many in the Cecani clan had assumed they hated one another and that had been true at points, especially last year, when their parents passed away. Geralf sincerely wished they could have some healthier form of relationship. He doubted their competitive and sometimes contrary spirits would ever go away, but surely the spite and loathing could.  
Outside the twin doors to the lecture stood a fancily dressed youth whose pointed chin bore a goatee worthy of the devil himself. He even had the red hair to match. He was redolent in a coat that looked straight out of final fantasy, or perhaps castlevania, decorated with buckles, belts, buttons, and all manner of anachronistic detail. Geralf looked upon the coat appreciatively before crinkling his nose as he noticed the man was smoking, blowing gouts of smoke into the cold air. The cigarette smelled odd, and its shape was odd too. Perhaps even illegally odd. How very unsavoury. His red eyes looked at Gisa and Geralf challengingly. Geralf averted his eyes and Gisa simply smirked.  
The twins entered the lecture hall and Geralf was dismayed to find that what looked like the whole class had already found their seats. At least a hundred young people had assembled for ‘Intermediate Sculpture and Visual Art’. A few heads turned their way as they walked down the steps to a cluster of empty seats near the back of the theatre. Geralf felt a little embarrassment at the attention and quietly made his way to a spare seat. Gisa felt no such fear and waved at some of the people whose gaze lingered a little too long. They promptly turned back to the front.  
Geralf opened his satchel and retrieved a fresh leather-bound notepad and a selection of pens and pencils. He arrayed these all neatly on the fold-down desk the seats were attached with.  
Beside him, Gisa pulled out her old laptop, its back almost completely covered with stickers. She opened it and pressed the power button. There was no response from the device. Gisa went rummaging through her bag for the power cord, muttering as she did.  
Geralt checked his watch. 9:01AM.  
He looked around for their lecturer but spotted no one. The lectern at the front of the room was bare and the screen behind it was blank.  
“Shit!” Gisa hissed beside him.  
Geralf looked on a little smugly as he dated and labelled the first page of his notebook.  
“Give me a pen,” Gisa demanded.  
“I think not.”  
Her hand lunged for one but Geralf snatched them up and held them away from her. “They’re mine! It’s not my fault you weren’t prepared” he complained petulantly.  
Gisa opened her mouth to make some searing comment but was interrupted by a pen appearing in between her and Geralf. The twins turned around to see who held it. It was the bearded redhead from outside. Geralf hadn’t heard him sit down. He gave Geralf a bemused look that instantly filled him with guilt for his stingy behaviour.  
“Thanks, man,” Gisa said, taking the proffered item of stationary. Its end was all chewed-up, but she didn’t seem to mind. She shot Geralf a cold glare which worsened his sense of guilt further.  
Geralf watched her realise she had nothing to write on and offered her a sheet of paper from his notebook.  
“I wouldn’t want you part with any of your precious stationary, brother dearest,” she replied darkly.  
Improvising, she pulled a crumpled college religious group’s flier from her bag and flattened it out on her desk before flipping it over to write on.  
Geralf wisely stifled a laugh at the sight.  
At this point their professor, a middle-aged man of regal bearing appeared.  
“Good morning, everyone. I am Professor Markov and I will be teaching you intermediate sculpture and visual design,” he began formally. His voice was deep and almost gravelly. Geralf noticed several classmates look on their handsome professor with interest, Gisa included.  
He swept aside his long silver hair as he spoke, practically eliciting a swoon from Gisa. The silver-fox look was a good one, Geralf had to admit. The man was practically a vampire in appearance, an undead aristocrat from centuries past.  
Geralf listened with rapt attention, writing notes at a blistering speed. As was typical, the introductory lecture contained no actual content, but merely described the outline of the course, what assessment to expect, and Professor Markov’s expectations. It was clear to Geralf that most everyone present was going to do their very best to meet those expectations.  
Geralf picked out the three most important aspect of his final grade: contributions to weekly tutorials, a mid-semester project, and an end of semester project. Ideas and possibilities began to coalesce in his mind, the early stages of art projects. He sketched some of these ideas in the margins of his notebook, shapes and materials for the most part.  
One man near the front of the hall repeatedly raised his hand to ask questions of Professor Markov, interrupting the lecture. Geralf rolled his eyes. A mature-aged student, of course.  
Soon enough, the hour was up, and the professor gave his final partings.  
“Remember everyone to sign up for tutorials online. Places will open tomorrow morning at 10AM. There are two times every day of the week except Friday which has one time slot. I wish you all the best.”  
Sensing the lecture was over, the entire hall clapped, a deafening cacophony to Geralf’s ears. Geralf joined in nonetheless. He didn’t want to seem disrespectful.  
Geralf slid his notes and pens into his satchel and stood up. He saw a line forming as students moved to the front of the hall to speak with Professor Markov. His urge to speak to the esteemed sculptor conflicted with his desire to avoid the noisy crowd at the front of the room. He stood still for a moment, internally debating. He imagined he looked a little like a statue himself at that moment. Out of the corner of his eyes he spotted Gisa and that coat-wearing man exit the hall together, chatting in a friendly manner. Geralf disapproved such a friendship but kept this thought to himself.  
Finally, his anxiety overcome his desire to immediately ingratiate himself with his teacher and he retreated from the hall. Before he did, he spotted an enormous painting on the wall beside him. He hadn’t noticed it before in his haste to prepare for the class.  
It was an oil portrait of an elderly man he looked very much like Professor Markov. His great-uncle Edgar Markov, perhaps? The one this hall was named after? The man was gaunt and lined with extreme age, his eyes had a look of disturbing hunger to them.  
Geralf waited for a smiling blonde woman and her friends to exit before making his own leave.  
He looked around for Gisa but saw no sign of her.  
Checking his watch and Schedule he realised he had another two hours until his next lecture, BIOL221 ‘Introduction to Anatomy’.  
He decided to head for the library and ensure had all the correct texts he might need. He had done all the required reading already that he knew of, but it never hurt to double-check.  
It was about an hour later, sitting amidst a small pile of textbooks that he remembered his pokemon game. His console was sitting on his bed, still running, not even with its screen closed to conserve battery. He might lose all his progress! He cursed himself for a fool, seized his textbooks, and raced over to his dormroom. He practically ran up the stairs, balancing the textbooks with some difficulty.  
His heart dropped as he spotted the red-head standing beside his door.  
“Finally! I thought you’d never show up!” he said, smiling a devilish grin.  
“And you are-“ Geralf asked, his voice quivering a little.  
“Tibalt. I’m your roommate.”  
Geralf gulped.


End file.
